


Dreams and Decreation, Desecration

by falseisthistale



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Body Horror, Dream Sex, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, I GUESS BECAUSE NIGHTMARES ARE FUCKED UP, Nightmares, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-07 19:38:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3180680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falseisthistale/pseuds/falseisthistale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Solavellan, [19… having a wet dream and calling the other’s name during it]. </p>
<p>However, I introduced in the twist of having this be Solas POV, after break-up. It's more of a exploration of his state of mind than anything else. </p>
<p>"Solas thought he had given up on wanting."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreams and Decreation, Desecration

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mechawaka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mechawaka/gifts).



 

Solas thought he had given up on wanting.

 

His first vision of this world had been of lyrium tainted red. He had felt his heart sinking in his chest, the slow dread of ominous premonition washing over him. Only later did he see all that the earth still held of beauty and wonder and yet later had already been too late. Everything had become veiled.

 

Wanting, then, was a lot like the taint.

 

Desire was not something borne from inside of you, a potential long slumbering, it came from the outside. It was neither ally nor foe, neutral to ideals like diseases are, often all that is most fearful is. And after it is done you never do sing the same. The only known cure for longing is indulgence so better just learn to live with the disease.

 

 

 

_Hands drawing out from her mysteries not yet discovered, her being unraveling before his eyes. Kisses gentle, so gentle, disguising fire within_

 

 

 

Learning something long forgotten had felt like being born in water. There was an ease to it now, where previously he had remembered struggle, even in this realm so alien. Water veiled, yes, but water guided, soothed. It held his hand as he floated through lands unrecognizable, ravaged, through memories that still clung to the veins of Thedas. It gave him power, too. There was power to be found in half-blindness, and power to be found in not truly existing in the same world as everything else. The power of the unfettered, the untouchable.

 

 

 

_she had wanted to burn,_

_mind turning into ashes as her_

_eyes glazed over in the heat of_

_fever_

Solas thought he had given up on wanting because he had given up on being. There is only so much you can live before weariness of life is all that remains, and he had lived beyond that, beyond his own life, even. He had lived enough to be smothered by living. It was far easier to sleep.

 

_Pleasure taking them both home for pleasure defied distance,_

_defied time._

 

 

In the Fade he doesn’t have skin. He is bare, undressed, undone. He sheds his lies like furs, his titles like cloth. He is no more what he is known for.  He is essence. And when they look at him, they see him. The fog lifts, there is no veil. He can see too. He arrives to the core of life, the result of years beyond counting of wanting. He watches as the inhabitants of this place clutch into the glimpses of desire, holding them like a mother would a newborn babe. _This is what life is_ , their eyes seem to say, marveled. And so they press against the veil.

 

 

 

_Her finger touching lightly upon his cheek, a moment of hesitation that_

_flared_

_something_

_ancient_

_in him._

For him it had been proof of one more thing that yearning had the power to corrupt. Better to be pure in cause, better to have certainty, better to be fire burning bright, better to be spirit. Better to smother the flesh; only that made keeping on bearable. Once they accused him of being in love with sorrow, in love with penance, in love with all things unbearable. _You are in love with yourself_ , they whispered, trying to help. It might have if he still knew who he was.

 

 

_From her lips whispers almost like a prayer, Solas,_

_Solas,_

_Solas,_

_Solas._

 

In her embrace he was Solas. He could feel himself being born from the womb of her care. He was Solas over and over, again and again, lived lives condensed into the seconds, minutes and hours of a single night; the innocence of children into the longing of adulthood into the repentance of great age. She warped more than the veil around her; time was relative and ego a blur at her feet.

 

He would close his eyes and promise, it is the last time, all the while knowing it wasn’t, _this changes nothing_ , all the while feeling the entire world changing. Happiness giving way to unhappiness, rest turning into unrest. Making him lose control. First, of himself, after, of dreams.

 

 

_He enters the room_ and she is there. He _travels into the ancient city_ and she is there. Forests _relive before his eyes, she_ is there. The glory of his people _again in his eyes, she is there_. Wars that have wounded the world and, _oh, this is a battle_ that he cannot win, _she is there, she_ is there she is there she is _there._

His hands searching for her breasts, her breathing already erratic, him pressing her against a wall, his hips locking her in place. Her legs rise, and he holds them, with ease for they are both light, weightless, essence. Essence. She bites his shoulder and there is a growl that echoes in the emptiness, buildings and trees and grass dissolving around them, melting, as they meet each other. She gasps and the entire world is gone, gone, there is her, there is only her, _she is there_ , she is here.

 

There is only her. Only her. Only the feeling of her skin against his. Only her. Only his tongue deep into her mouth. Only her. Only the way his arms warp at her body, not letting go. Only her until-

 

They come.

 

like thousands of hands clawing at his throat, forbidding him of breath. Panicked he looks to his side and she is gone, dead before her time, already just a memory. Only the tightening grasp of those fingers wrapping around his neck is real. His skin reddens as he ceases to breathe, the entire world is red.

 

And the hands,

he can see that they

have bodies-

 

 

Shadows that have followed throughout the ages, always behind enough so he could not forget, behind enough that they cannot keep him company. Ghosts that in their anger claw at him in this newfound lack of power over dreams, over nightmares, over sleep. Where Firhelis had traced the veins in his neck,

 

**marveling at the liquids within keeping him alive,**

 

their nails now cut deep, and deeper. Until the skin gave, until he had no skin, Solas no more, another mask, lie to be stripped. And where she had laid a trail of kisses,

 

**soft, gentle, a secret playfulness awaking in her,**

 

their mouths now bit into flesh, into muscle, into bone, sucking on marrow. Eating the whole of him, helpless as they chewed, churned. And when it had been her eyes gazing into his,

 

**seeing solitude, solace, soul beneath and understanding, loving him,**

 

now they point at him, mocking and slandering, accusing, _you have abandoned us, you have cast us aside, you cannot do this, the decision isn’t yours to make, you don’t get to own yourself, this is who you are, this is what you truly are, can’t you see, can you see?, you have betrayed us, betrayer they call you, throughout the ages betraying again and again, but at least do not betray yourself._

 

Thousands of voices everywhere until the room is all sound, _this is who you are, here, see, this is who you are,_ Carefully laying at his feet the whole matter of him all the while interposed with what was hers: arteries (the rush of arousal), nerves (pain, please vhenan), eyes (you saw more than most), blood (of my blood, lethallin), heart (I love you, my), brain (the delirious blank of height, flying, fall), stomach (ancient hunger, never to be satisfied), nails (anchoring into her, not letting go), bones and-

 

_Wake up._

 

thoughts he had had and the things he had done and everything that he had left behin-

 

“Solas, wake up.”

 

When he opened his eyes Firhelis was crouching next to him, the tip of her fingers barely brushing his shoulder, her expression one of concern. His sudden consciousness came like a blast at her, she recoiled, removed her hand as if she had been burned. Neither spoke for a while, he still struggling through bringing mind back to the world of wake, she wrapped in battles of her own not knowing what to say.

 

“Inquisitor? Has something happened?”

 

Firhelis blinked rapidly, her concern melting into formality. “You were thrashing wildly, like someone in a fever. It looked like it was a nightmare, it looked like you were in pain.”

 

“I apologize for causing you concern.”

“You kept repeating my name.”

 

Solas could already feel the familiar pang of yearning enveloping them both, wanting to tear down everything he had sacrificed so much to accomplish. _Learn how to live with the disease_ , was all he could advise himself. “Inquisitor, you are not to blame for this, but I fear I must ask you to-“

 

“I know.” Firhelis started as she got up, free already of whatever moment of weakness had led her to care, “You can’t.” She echoed.

It would have been easy for her to blame herself, but he could tell by the edge of disdain concealed in her words that, instead, she blamed him. Not a lot of people would have done that, but she did, of course, in her self-assurance of stone, of giants, of gods. It was selfish, but how could he blame her?, he had been selfish too.

After all, some part of him felt happier, lighter. Better to have certainty, better to have cause, better to be and recognize yourself being.

 

Solas watched her walking away, until not even the ripples of her presence made themselves felt in his mind.

 

_You are what you are._ He thought last, his mind lapsing into the strange release of sleep, _And you do not get to be happy._

 


End file.
